Prologue

Ink storms across the page.
A crowd hums beneath the paper’s skin.
One fist rises — not to strike, but to signal: You are not alone.

Body I

New law of this cosmos:
Solidarity has sound.
Every stroke echoes a heartbeat.
The pigs, the people, the nameless —
all drawn in the same trembling line.
No color, only conviction.
The word resist burns quietly,
like a promise you write in the dark.

Body II

Pig: “What if ink is our revolution?”
Hand: “Then every outline is a march.”

DADA Break

SCRITCH—SNORT—RISE!
Paper roars without tearing.

Closing

The line does not end — it continues through us.
One snout, one fist, one whisper:
We draw, therefore we remain.